


Lesson Eleven; On the Troubles of Doubles

by an_evasive_author



Series: Continued Studies of Fatherhood [11]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Siblings, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21560890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_evasive_author/pseuds/an_evasive_author
Summary: Fëanáro strives for excellence in all things no matter what these things might be. So, too, with his offspring. However, perhaps he was not prepared for quite such a curiosity.
Relationships: Aredhel & Celegorm | Turcafinwë, Finrod Felagund | Findaráto & Turgon of Gondolin, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Series: Continued Studies of Fatherhood [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1410001
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	1. Double

Nerdanel liked to think of herself as pragmatic. As such, it was was not in her habit to fling accusations in the way of 'You did this to me' or other such trifle around. Yes, she was not happy at the moment, far from it, but she was also fully aware that she was at least partially responsible for that.

She did not blame Fëanáro for fulfilling his marital duties. And because she did not usually state the obvious. Because half of it _was_ absolutely Fëanáro's fault. With his wine and his voice and his terribly clever tongue in every sense of the word.

Fëanáro, meanwhile, kneeled beside her; Not out of some sense of duty, nor out of fear that his wife would suddenly perish. She had vigour and spirit in abundance, enough to keep pace with Fëanáro who was the most unwavering elf he knew.

He kneeled at his wife's side because she was currently crushing his fingers to a very fine paste with torturous precision. Fëanáro supposed he could not blame her, even as the expulsive pains where coming in faster and she communicated this in kind. This was not his first experience with the agonising wonder that was childbirth and yet it was arguably just as painful as it had been the other five times.

Fëanáro did not shriek. That was Nerdanel's exclusive right in these instances. But he _did_ bite into his unoccupied hand and went down on his shins as if genuflecting.

A midwife trailed past him and he fumbled around until he caught the elf by his collar and pulled him down to his level. “Is it over soon?!” Fëanáro asked hoarsely and contemplated begging Nerdanel to switch hands. Then again, two bruised wrists would make for a terrible inconvenience.

The midwife nodded and pressed his ears back at the sight of his crown prince looking at him like a caged animal. From behind them came a new slew of colourful curses, none of which Fëanáro had heard before. Really, part of him was oddly impressed that, after so many times, she still had an endless supply of vocabulary and suggestions what one could do with a weather wane.

How ironic to think that it was her who always admonished Fëanáro for cursing, but pointing that out would be most ill-advised. Fëanáro had, admittedly, no problem to point out others hypocrisy, but he was also not suicidal.

There was nothing he could do but wait it out. Tough it out, for he was strong. Stronger, hardier than the agony in his hand and by the Valar, he would prevail.

And when an entirely new kind of screaming filled the room, Fëanáro was once more proven right.

Both of them gasped for relief, Fëanáro made to take his hand back, when Nerdanel tensed again.

“ _Oh_. This however is unusual,” said the midwife when Nerdanel did not stop hollering and suddenly there was quite a lot of excitement.

Though Fëanáro lived for the unusual, the strange and the extraordinary, hearing these words wrenched the smallest of whimpers out of him before he could even ask for clarification. He could hear that, somehow, there was another child but the rest was drowned out by Nerdanel's furious yell.

* * *

Once both little elves had been cleaned up a little, had their very first good cry and had been wrapped in two little blankets, both Nerdanel and Fëanáro could have closer looks at what they had wrought.

They looked identical, at least in the sense that all newborns did; Like tiny, flushed potatoes, lightly squashed in the face and curled up like little pill bugs. Both of them had a splash of copper infant fuzz, the soft fluff every elf was born with. In time hair would grow out and the fluff would fall out. But for now it was there and irresistibly soft to touch.

“I do admit, I am surprised,” said Fëanáro and stroked over a little russet head. There was a half-hearted attempt at movement, but the little one lost resoluteness half-way through a long yawn.

“Mhm,” agreed Nerdanel at the verge of passing out. Well, it was not as if she had not _earned_ it. “There will be words about that later, you show-off.” She curled her lips, “I somehow feel as if I got cheated out of some proper attention by making two at once.”

“I shall make that up later,” promised Fëanáro and leaned closer so he could nuzzle at her and the infants. They smelled quite nice, all of his sons had when they had been small and adorable. A shame that nothing Fëanáro had tried had been able to recreate this fragrance. Well, aside from making more sons.

Boasting would come later. _Needed_ to come later. For now, though his chest felt ready to burst with pride, Fëanáro needed a stiff drink and something for his wrist. And of course the rest of their ilk would need to be informed of the news.

* * *

The twins needed to be introduced to the rest of their brothers first and once all had returned homewards and they were granted privacy, the scrutiny began.

Carnistir was the least interested in the addition of brothers and instead dove for Nerdanel's unoccupied arm, clambering on the bed and nuzzling close to her. She wrapped her arm around him as the rest of her sons approached to welcome the newest members into their ranks.

Curufinwë climbed into Fëanáro's lap, his rightful place. He made himself comfortable, leaned forward and looked at his brothers.

Two tiny, lightly squirming bundles with a bit of red fuzz sticking out on top. They blinked, grey eyes wide and made cooing noises.

Curufinwë pursed his lips and shook his head. “You can't do that!” he called, feeling terribly indignant. What was the world coming to if one could not even anticipate how many siblings one would get at once? All had told him he would get a little brother or, though no one had quite believed it, a sister. And now this; Two brothers. Lies.

Needless to say, he had strong opinions about the matter, “You can't just make two!”

Nerdanel laughed hoarsely and poked Curufinwë's nose playfully, “And yet I did, my little troublemaker.”

Curufinwë snorted and leaned back into his father's chest, arms crossed and pouting fiercely.

“Any other comments?” Fëanáro asked into the round.

Nelyo merely smiled, assured in his victory. For now he had two little reinforcements in his brothers who shared their mother's red hair.

That left only Tyelko as the outlier, with his fair hair, though he had seemingly not realised that fact and no one would draw his attention to it.

“They are very lovely,” Macalaurë said and stroked one of their little heads. “What will be their names?”

“Ambarussa,” Nerdanel said.

Fëanáro raised his eyebrow, the left one. That one he could raise a little higher and it made him look more incredulous, “Which one?”

“Why, both of them.”

“Absolutely not,” Fëanáro said with utter finality.

They waited until all of their now seven sons were well out of earshot before the argumentation started. And because they were both reasonable elves with well-founded arguments, they settled on both.

* * *

Nerdanel leaned over the little bassinet and while her hair obscured just what she was doing, the disgruntled peeps and mews as she kissed them was enough to gather the general idea.

She rose again, though she came away with a red-headed infant in each arm, both wiggling and cooing quietly, gnawing on tiny fists. So laden with treasures, Nerdanel wandered over to the couch where Fëanáro sat.

He was entirely engrossed in some notes, papers strewn all over the coffee table. Cream paper, parchment, some with wax seals and some bound with silk ribbons.

Congratulatory notes, well wishes, inquiries for the soon to follow celebration for the newest little princes. All trifle that would need answering and sifting through.

The cause for this flood of parchment and mulberry paper wiggled around and made little chirrups until they were placed comfortable. Fëanáro took Telvo and stroked his head until the child stared upwards with wide, grey eyes. He looked utterly amazed by anything, always craning his neck, always filled with such wonderment. Fëanáro certainly approved of that.

Meanwhile, Pityo was perched in Nerdanel's arms. For some reason it seemed terribly prudent to him to wiggle around with every of his given limps, for he would hardly sit still and cheep and chirp to himself and to his brother.

But soon enough both twins found themselves once more captivated by something and they turned to see.

On the hearthrug, his discarded plate adorned with a decimated apple core, lay Tyelkormo with his companion.

Tyelko and Huan played with a short length of rope, a knot tied on either side to make gripping onto easier. They both tugged at it, Huan with his sharp teeth and Tyelko with one hand. Tyelko lay on his back, both hands hanging on as Huan shook his head and tried to pull the both of them along.

Ambarussa both watched them intently, burbling thoughtfully to one another, chittering like little birds. Ever since their eyes had caught sight of the great grey hound in the room, there had been nothing able to distract them for long. Their excited chattering picked up in volume and speed whenever Huan would trundle past them.

It had been love at first sight, not that Huan seemed to care all that much about the adoration the twins tried to shower him with.

When their game had concluded and Huan wandered off to lap water, Tyelko turned around. “Will there be two cakes for two babies?” he asked. For every child of the royal family there had been a grandiose feast, large celebrations. It paid off to be the eldest, for that meant one would get the most cake. One could not eat cake if one was too small to eat it, after all.

And so it seemed only fair that double the amount of children would mean double the chance to utterly gorge on delicacies. It only made sense.

“We shall see if the kitchen pantries can even handle such a request,” Nerdanel said and nuzzled into her half of the squirming twins. Pityo crowed and grabbed for her face. “The last thing we want is a famine, now do we?” Nerdanel asked Pityo and closed her eyes so tiny fists would not accidentally poke her.

“We can just have it carrot cake. They aren't good for anything else,” Tyelko said. _He_ certainly did not like them and so why would anyone else if not to show him up. But they were quite good in cake, he could admit to that.

Kanafinwë huffed, “Absolutely not, it tastes revolting.”

Tyelko flipped himself from his back to his stomach, eyes narrowed as if issuing a challenge, “It does not.”

Arguing broke out until Nelyo stepped in between to smooth ruffled tempers.

Curufinwë snorted at the sound of his brothers arguing, turned to lean against his father and flipped the page of his book. He wiped at his nose, brow lightly furrowed in concentration. In these moments he looked even more like his father.

Fëanáro shifted Telvo around, until the child was leaned against his side. He fetched his quill and jotted something done, discarding both paper and writing utensil just as Telvo felt unappreciated to rock him against his chest. One thing could be said about five trial runs; They had the timing down perfectly.

Curufinwë looked quite cross with him as Fëanáro returned to his position, having been jostled around.

Telvo cooed as his head was gently stroked and he mewed quietly to himself, uncaring to ongoing debates about carrots and cakes. His brother shared the sentiment.


	2. Trouble

As it was with all things Fëanáro associated himself with, the cake was somewhat of a decadence, displaying his own opinion regarding greatness.

Five layers, with the fifth only accessible with a short ladder. Filled with cream and fruit and posing an irresistible lure for little and not quite so little elvlings.

More than once the servants had to chase off one of the sons of Fëanáro and at least once Fëanáro. But that was alright, they had permission and orders. And after the initial trembling dread of reprimanding _Fëanáro_ had dissipated, they had no problem dishing it out. One took opportunities like this wherever possible.

Fëanáro slinked off while muttering darkly to himself.

Logic dictated that, after five times of having parties in honour of a child's birth, one could at least be expected to competently pretend to know what one was doing. So, too, it was with the respective sixth and seventh welcoming celebration for the newest little princes and Nerdanel and Fëanáro where up to their ears in workload. The trick was to not let the imminent breakdown show.

It helped that by now at least some of their sons could be expected to assist in the preparations and more than once Nelyo had been swarmed by his own groups of servants looking for orders.

Tyelko had taken one long look at the decorations, the food he was not allowed to eat yet and the terrible promise of embroidered formal robes and fled into the gardens with Huan where they idled in the grass underneath a tree, listening to the birds singing.

Or at least they tried to.

“ _Tyelko_ , put on something to _wear_ ,” said Nerdanel on one of her endless, frantic rounds around the house. She had a swarm of maids behind her, all laden with lists, pincushions, ribbons and other things.

She and her gaggle patrolled the house, had done so ever since the first strands of gold had coloured the sky. Well, and in the garden, for the party would no doubt spill onto there.

She had spotted Tyelko and stormed her way outside. It seemed as if something new needed tending to the moment she turned around. “The guests will arrive shortly.”

“I am _wearing_ clothes!” Came the impassioned cry but Tyelko's reasoning was met by stone-faced intolerance. “I can't move in that stupid tunic and those dumb pants; What if I have to go out to hunt?!” he tried again.

Huan rolled over in the soft grass and scratched his floppy ear.

Nerdanel crossed her arms and shook her head, “You are most certainly not. Go change into something decent; And hurry up, the guests will arrive soon.”

Tyelko made to argue but Nerdanel's sharp glare made him huff as he picked himself off the ground, “Feh...” He watched her as she and her gaggle of maids went back to the house. “ _Unfair_ ; Making me wear that itchy thing all the time. I was just going to eat cake anyway, who cares about this-- Huan?”

He turned back, towards Huan who lay spilled out into the grass, uncaring to Tyelko's plight. “Come on, Huan.”

Huan grumbled, kicked out his leg and closed his eyes again. If one listened closely, one might have heard the dog make a sound akin to “Feh...”

“Huan, you can't let me suffer through this alone!”

“Fah _...”_ Huan yawned with disinterest and left his master to fend for himself. For he was a hound who did not enjoy the noise that a party brought and was not allowed near the grand buffet tables, for that would spook the guests.

“ _Huan_! Come on! Don't make me roll you over, you lazy hound!” Tyelko called and was met with disinterest at best.

* * *

He was a picture of serene focus, the placid smile was what did the trick, though it helped to incline his head _just so_ to look a little withdrawn.

If only he actually drone out the commotion outside... Kanafinwë felt his entire face contort when Tyelkormo yelled something asinine which was nothing new but also not conductive to anything that required to hear one's own thoughts.

It was hard to concentrate on the gentle, golden tones of his equally golden harp in front of him with such caterwauling outside. He did not know what possessed his brother this time to yell like this, but the lack of reason had never really stopped Tyelko from hollering.

As such, Kanafinwë found it fully within his right to yell back until Tyelko grumbled and vanished inside, the dog still splayed out like a raincloud on the grass.

When Kanafinwë returned, the book he had threatened to throw still in his hand, Carnistir had snuck inside his brother's room, taken a seat and was now plucking sullenly at the strings of his Kanafinwë's harp.

It seemed there was a raincloud in here now, too. Perhaps a little cheering up was in order.

“Do you want to take over my part in the opening?” Kanafinwë smirked but found his jest misfiring, for Carnistir, looking utterly miserable, shook his head and drew his knees up to his chin. He looked perfectly miserable and Kanafinwë had to make due with the floor. “Everything alright?” Because with Carnistir and his easily upset moods there was very nearly always something going on.

Another shake of his head, though his face was firmly hidden by his knees.

Kanafinwë hummed, “Nervous?”

“There will be so _many_...” came the muffled answer from between embroidered pant legs. Carnistir brought his sleeve up to wipe his nose and miraculously, Kanafinwë did not immediately dissolve into a screaming fit.

Instead he smiled encouragingly, carefully ignored the snail trail on his brother's sleeve and patted the dark wealth of his brother's hair, “Yes, well. You don't have to talk with everyone. Anyone, really, if you do not want to.”

Amazingly, this did not seem to quell Carnistir's fears any. Fear and anger were moods always lurking just underneath the surface with his brother, ready to spring out like wild animals at any ill-chosen moment not always easily discernible beforehand.

It was not always easy to deal with his Carnistir. Not even Carnistir found it easy to deal with himself.

“But they will still _be_ there. I want to stay in my room and build my new birdhouse...” Which by now would be part of a rather impressive collection. The gardens were filled with them already, every tree and large bush was decorated with a tiny castle, a little mansion or replica of some manner of residence for colourful little birds.

Once and only _once_ had Kanafinwë tried to build a birdhouse with his brother. That splintery, misshapen abomination was left intentionally forgotten at the very bottom of his closet.

But it made Carnistir undeniably happy, to talk at length of things he was passionate about. And if that was needed right now, Kanafinwë would need to resign himself to another wooden abomination... well, that was the price to pay then.

“Come, then we shall build your birdhouse now, so you will not have to worry about it later.”

Carnistir blinked, “Really?”

“Of course, I know my pieces well enough by now. I have a little time.”

Carnistir's volatile personality also meant that one could potentially cheer him up quite quickly as well. He smiled, all talk of guests forgotten and climbed off his pillow. “I have sketched it all out already, it will have a second story, you know?”

And Kanafinwë, though not gifted in the art of birdhouse-building, followed dutifully, listening attentively and nodded along.

For that was what made his brother happy.

* * *

“Tyelko, don't you dare,” Nerdanel hissed without even turning. She busied herself with Kanafinwe and the crooked brooch pinned to his robe. Somehow all of her sons managed to look dishevelled mere minutes after having been neaten out. It was a futile effort

Tyelko, who had been busy trying to tuck at the finely embroidered tunic, snarled to himself and sulked. “I hate this!” he proclaimed.

No one seemed to care, willing to relive him from his plight and Tyelko snorted before crossing his arms.

“Someone fetch me a cordial!” called Fëanáro after he had idled away with Ambarussa and reworked his order right away before any of the servants had even had the chance to comply, “Make that two!”

He sighed, nearly inaudibly and adjusted his rings decorating his fingers before he petted Curufinwë who seemed glued to his leg, “This spectacle drives me to drink... And we have not even started.”

“Don't drink before the guests arrive, Fëanáro,” Nerdanel chided even as she fussed over Kanafinwë's golden circlet and the lock of hair that would not stay out of his face no matter how many times she stroked it behind his ear. “There will be wine served shortly.”

Tyelkormo gave her such a withering glare, looking spick and span and ready to murder whoever commented on it. Oh, how badly she wished to pinch his cheeks, all puffed up as they were.

“I shall need _something_ to tide me over,” he said and took both of the small glasses from the servant that presented them. He held one out to Nerdanel, “How do you expect me to weather the mouth-breathing masses without at least _some_ assistance?”

Nerdanel eyed him critically, then the little glass of liquor. “I hate it when you are right like this.”

Fëanáro shrugged and they clinked their classes together just as the guests were announced and the House of Fëanáro opened for guests. “Cheers, my dear,” Fëanáro said as the music began to play.

* * *

Of course the waif with his golden brood arrived first, already having weaselled past the gates before the rest of the guests had even been noted on the list. All saddled with gifts wrapped in elaborate bows.

Greeting the guests was something a good host did. And so, for he wished to be just like his father, Curufinwë waited next to his father, politely greeting guests as they arrived.

“Curufinwë,” Arafinwe greeted his oldest brother with the exuberant cheer of a lunatic thrusting their hand into a hornets nest. Before Fëanáro could do as little as scowl—more than he already did, at least-- Arafinwe bend down ever so slightly, so no one could bite his nose off for coming too close, “And _little_ Curufinwë. How nice to see you again.”

Arafinwe seldom called Fëanáro that, but the obvious joke was simply too good to pass off. His half-brother jumped for low-hanging fruit like that; easy to amuse.

“I'm not _little_!” called Curufinwë, sounding horribly insulted.

“Of course not,” Arafinwe agreed without missing a single beat, “It is merely a figure of speech.”

“I'm not little...” Curufinwë insisted again, though quieter and less certain than before. The tips of his ears were flushed and he stared at the ground with suddenly great interest.

Arafinwe's oldest was beginning to act just as simpering and cheery as his father and Fëanáro watched Findarato as he rambled at his poor son about all manner of things while he himself was still busy trying to weather Arafinwe's exuberance.

Nolofinwe used the time to slip in without any animosity able to be exchanged between the two of them and once he was well out of sight, Arafinwe and Findarato pulled back smiled politely and did not bother the two with their verbal assault.

Fëanáro shooed them through the required formalities before his half-brother with his family vanished into the hall. He looked down to where Curufinwë simmered and stewed quietly in his anger and petted his son's head, but he did not offer the child to go inside. Curufinwë had made his decision and Fëanáro respected his son enough to not question it.

Curufinwë straightened himself and searched for his father's hand to hold. Greeting guests was all fine and well, but still he felt a little spooked. There were so many of them. But such was what a proper host did and Curufinwë knew no one greater than his father. And if his father did it, so would he.

And when Fëanáro squeezed his hand reassuringly, it was as if the guests were not quite so scary after all.

Of course, there was one guest, one who meandered leisurely through the hall, stopping at every statue and painting, who was not scary in the least.

“Haru!” called Curufinwë, all refined manners and aloof decorum utterly forgotten and bopped up and down on the spot. “Haru!” he squealed again and shot into his grandfather's direction.

Fëanáro noted a distinct absence of the witch and was clad for it. The further away Indis was, the better. No good would come of her presence.

Finwë reached them both and laughed when Curufinwë collided with him. “What reception,” Finwë said and tidied one of Curufinwë's tresses, flown loose from the impact. Behind him stood servants laden with all manners of wrapped boxes.

“Curufinwë, be polite,” Fëanáro said, “What do we say to our guests?”

“Did you bring me something?” Curufinwë asked hopefully, hands bunched in Finwë's robes and wide eyes glittering with anticipation.

Fëanáro rolled his eyes and was ignored when Finwë indeed brought forth gifts. Wrapped boxes and sweets and so many more delights to indulge his grandchildren with. “When have I ever not? Fëanáro, no sulking, I brought something for you too.”

“I am not!” Fëanáro called and seemed to think better of it a moment too late, “It is not about gifts--” he did another double-take, for there where greater problems than jealousy, “ _Atya_ , not in front of the guests.”

“Oh hush,” Finwë laughed, for his reputation would forever remain untouched and unchallenged by the sheer virtue of his crown, and patted their shoulders, “I shall be inside, until then.”

“Bye-bye, Haru,” Curufinwë said through his mouthful of sweets and of course, the most important part, “Will you watch over my gift until I am done?” Curufinwë called after him.

“Of course, my dear,” Finwë said and vanished through the doors to see who else he could catch.

Fëanáro watched his father go and idly wondered what his present could be.

* * *

There was a speech, because with Fëanáro there was _always_ a speech. But even that passed eventually, for all trials and tribulations had to at one point and be it only the the threat of Ambarussa being grown up by the time Fëanáro had finished his speech. And then the guests were unleashed onto the wine and now they were free to roam.

Irissë had sped off the moment they had been allowed to wander freely, their parents away to sample the wine.

Now Findekáno was left with his brother. Not that he minded, Turukáno was pleasant to talk to, after all. Well, most of the time.

Turukáno was slightly, nearly imperceptibly, shaking. One would not have seen it from the outside, too composed he looked, too unflappable. All accomplished by standing in front of the mirror and preparing himself with motivational speeches which Findekáno imagined to be memorised down to the very last impassioned infliction of the voice.

But Findekáno _did_ notice the shiver-shakes as his brother vibrated steadily next to him, because Turukáno had pressed himself close to his older brother and there he would stay until a tactical opening would avail itself for Turukáno to flee through.

The ballroom with its wide open space was right out, Turukáno could neither be persuaded to go in nor did Findekáno wish to force his brother if not absolutely necessary.

Findekáno though unable to relate to one such as his brother with his fear of strangers and public outings, sympathised. That did not stop him from pulling his brother along towards their cousins, wherever they might be.

Well, Findekáno knew, roughly, where Tyelkormo was. Glued to Irissë's hip the moment they had entered the mansion. That made things easier most of the time, because his sister could be, and often was, rather loud.

The dining hall was acceptable to enter, at least. “Are you hungry yet?” asked Findekáno and felt his own stomach growl. Well, to be fair, it was rather more appetite than true hunger.

“We...ate right before we left,” Turukáno reminded him gently. Like one already knowing their attempts would result in failure but still trying.

“I know,” Findekáno agreed, “That must have been... _forever_ ago.”

Turukáno did not press further and together they entered the dining hall.

He was not the only older brother herding a younger sibling.

Findarato had already been served and held a second and third glass for Findekáno and Turukáno as the two of them reached him. “Why hello,” Findarato laughed and embraced them, balancing the fluted glasses easily before distributing them.

Angaráto next to him mumbled a similar greeting and turned back to cast longing glances at the object of his desire in the middle of the room.

“Did you already see the twins?” Findarato asked when pleasantries and beverages had been exchanged. He had sidled up close to Turukáno and Angaráto, perhaps a tad jealous of him, grabbed his brother's decorated sleeve and refused to budge from this position until he would not feel as if someone was stealing his brother.

“No, I was--”

“He was hungry,” Turukáno offered and smiled innocently when Fingon huffed at being interrupted. That was what happened when Turukáno was in close proximity to Findarato. He quipped.

“Ah yes, priorities,” Findarato smiled. The worst about his teasing was the fact that he sounded so terribly sincere and well-meaning whilst he flung mockery. “But don't feel bad; Angaráto also only came for the cake.”

Angaráto for his part once more cast longing glances at the pastry monstrosity someone could, for the lack of a better term, call cake.

Too shy to get it himself, Angaráto was left with the wane hope that someone would take pity on him and go with to help and lend moral support. Alas, no such luck and he was dragged off, away from what he desired most.

“You know, I am curious how they look. Or rather, how it happened at all, but I am not about to ask,” Findarato said as they wandered through the halls. “I lost quite a lot of sleep trying to puzzle it out.”

“You did?” Turukáno asked and his ears turned towards his friend.

“No,” Angaráto quipped in, slighted by his brother's refusal to get him sweets which was not only terribly cruel but also in need to be paid back by public, heartless humiliation. That would teach his brother.

All three turned to look at the grumpiest of their group. “Oh, how he exposes me so,” Findarato laughed happily and held out his hand.

A very pleased Angaráto grabbed eagerly onto it and basked in his success, glowing with pride at such a clever reply.

* * *

It would have been very hard to miss Nelyafinwe, though not yet grown, he was already taller than most others and as he stood next to the crib, he was elevated even more and Findekáno could pick him out of the crowd without even trying.

Findarato patted his younger brother's head, “Well, what do think?”

Angaráto looked into the crib, just barely able to peek at Ambarussa wiggling around on the soft plush.

He wrinkled his nose, looking very profound and very bemused. Telvo looked back though perhaps he was simply starring at something in Angaráto's general direction, and swung a little foot around to chew on his own toes.

“No,” Angaráto finally decided with his nose turned up, shook his head and lowered himself from tiptoes back on his feet. That seemed to be the extend of his interest and he grabbed for his brother's hand.

“Unimpressed, I see,” Findarato said, shrugged and sipped from his glass.

Nelyafinwe hummed sagely and sounded very grown up, his voice did not crack any longer, instead it was far deeper. Findekáno, who was not yet free of the terrible embarrassment that was pubescence, was as impressed as he was jealous.

“Well, what can you do. It looses some of the novelty after the fourth or so time.”

“I shall take your word for it,” Findarato said. “Do not take this the wrong way, but I think I don't need _that_ many siblings...”

Nelyafinwe grinned, “Speaking of brothers, I could have sworn Turukáno was here with us just a moment ago...”

They looked around. Turukáno, unchallenged master of the silent retreat, was indeed gone.

Nelyafinwe grinned and ruffled Findekáno's hair, “Finno, did you perchance lose your brother? You should tie a bell around his neck, I keep telling you.”

Findekáno blushed fiercely, “It _happens_ , he runs too fast. But he can't have gone far; There are people everywhere. He will loose his nerve and hide somewhere close, he always does.”

Findarato, who had never and would never pass up a chance to frolic about with his very dearest friend, smiled beatifically and placed his glass on a nearby table, “I'll volunteer to search. You needn't wait up for me.”

Angaráto, now no longer fearing that someone would seduce his brother away, had now only eyes for his one and true desire.

“If you wish to, good luck with that...” Findekáno sighed.

“Until then,” Findarato called and sauntered away, but not before turning around once more, “Watch my brother if you would; Don't lose him too, please.”

They watched him prance away, seamlessly blending into the masses like a fish through water. Findekáno gave a sardonic laugh but held out his hand for Angaráto all the same, “Shall we go get some cake? _That_ I can manage.

“ _Cake_ ,” declared Angaráto with absolute finality and nodded sharply to himself before making a beeline for said cake, Findekáno and Nelyafinwe behind him.

* * *

Tyelko stuck his tongue out in thought. Next to him, Irissë hummed.

Imposing it stood before them, like a mountain made from cream and fruit. Well, perhaps _imposing_ was the wrong word. Daunting, perhaps, just a little bit... defiant, even. If one was so inclined to feel challenged by a cake, which Irissë and Tyelko certainly were. Really, if one went about it the right way, everything could be a challenge.

No great conquering could commence without an equally great plan, however. And so they remained planted firmly before the gargantuan cake, plotting, glaring, once or twice wandering off to drink something and raid the buffet. All important steps in the planning effort, one could hardly go to plan without at least a few cold cuts on bread.

“We could ask someone...” Irissë offered, for there was a servant standing nearby who's sole duty it was to do just that. But Tyelko shook his head before the sentence had even been finished.

His brow crinkled in thought, he licked his lips and glared at the pastry, “If we can't do it ourselves, then it's not the same.” Because how could they call themselves conquerors if they could not even reach the cake. And they were not allowed on the ladder which was absolutely unfair!

Well, she could hardly disagree with that.

From behind them came the impassioned cry for cake and as they turned, Angaráto squeezed between them and pointed insistingly at the cake. “ _Cake_ ,” he chirped.

Nelyo reached the little trio first, courtesy of his long, long strides and Findekáno followed close behind.

“Nelyo, cut cake for us,” Tyelko called when he spotted his tall brother and ignored Irissë's betrayed glare. Much like a predatory animal out in the wild, Tyelko was an opportunist and had no shame. “The one up there.” He pointed up at the very highest layer, decorated with edible flowers and little swirls, all in coppery red. No one had touched it yet. Most likely because it was high up, tasted just the same as the rest of the cake and the servant tasked with cutting did not feel like taking a tumble into elf-high pastry.

“ _Cake_!” Angaráto agreed, though he seemed impartial to just what slice he would get.

Carefully considering his options, Nelyo leaned his head to the side, “I am not climbing up the ladder.” He pointed to the ones below them, decorated in candied petals, “You can have from the third tier, I can reach that one.”

Without tolerating any arguing, Nelyo went to work and cut slices from a spot that had remained perfectly untouched. Findekáno handed him plates and Angaráto greedily pulled at his embroidered tunic to speed the entire process up.

And then there was cake to be had though there was the short disruption of Nelyafinwe shooing them all to a table so they did not eat in the middle of the room.

* * *

“They are just my brothers...” Tyelko said. He himself did not quite understand the appeal of his very smallest of brothers. Curufinwë, at least, was very fun to play with. These two were not. One could not play with floppy infants that could not even sit up yet. “We could go outside instead.”

"I can't, I am wearing my dress,” Irissë reminded him and looked at the tiny elves. “They are so _cute_!” Irissë whispered though it was so loud, she might as well just have talked. “Like Nelyo, but small.”

Tyelko, feeling very self-conscious to the fact that it was his oldest brother who was considered cute, pouted to himself. “But you already have a little brother...”

“Yes, but there are two of them,” said Irissë. “So you can keep one and I get one and then we _match_.” Which of course sounded like an absolute perfect idea, like most ideas Irissë had.

Behind them, unseen by the two, Nerdanel opened her mouth to vehemently object but Eärwen held her back and had Nerdanel's wine glass refilled.

“Besides, your brothers are cute and mine are not.”

Oh, how it stung! What was he then? Was it because he smelled like dog? Surely not!

How stricken he must have looked, for there was unhelpful giggling from his mother and half-aunts...

Irissë frowned and tapped the corner of her mouth in thought. And then it dawned on her, better late than never, “Oh! But I like you still the best, you know that!” She grabbed his arms and pulled him along, “Come on, we will see what Huan is doing.”

Huan, poor Huan who was not allowed near the buffet and the guests, he had been send outside with only half a chicken to keep him company. Surely he would enjoy having someone play with him.

And with that all was well again with the world.

* * *

“ _Adorable_ ,” said Eärwen and turned to Anairë, “Stick your daughter into pretty dresses more often, less things catch on fire that way. Or get waterlogged.”

“I shall send you the bill,” Anairë replied, “She goes through dresses like tissues.” Considering to what adventures she infamously was up to and the frequent need to wipe one's face free from all manners of regrettable spillage, that amount was not inconsiderable.

“Ai,” Nerdanel said, briefly imagined the cost and gave up when it outdid her sons food budget. From her side of the table, where the decorated bassinet rocked gently back and forth, came a quiet coo and Nerdanel stroked the tiny occupants heads.

When she turned back, Anairë had her wine glass fixed with a stern glare, “I feel outdone; Stop it.”

“I have not even done anything today,” Nerdanel replied, one hand carefully rocking the little cradle. Ambarussa both cooed quietly, their noses nearly pressing against one another's as they slept.

Anairë hummed, “You had the first child, you have the most and now you made two at once.”

Nerdanel shrugged, “I do not plan on repeating that experience, if it consoles you any.”

“It does not.” Anairë looked into the crib and smiled just enough so she could scowl again a moment later, “They are too adorable too...”

“Anairë, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed by chance? Have some more wine, you are impossible today.” Eärwen said and held up her own glass for a servant to refill it.

Anairë's lips twitched, “It is this horrible girdle. It pinches me in all the wrong places.”

Nerdanel tilted her own wine glass and sipped before humming. “You are free to change; take something from my wardrobe. Let someone show you to the bedroom.”

“You know, perhaps I shall. How else am I going to eat cake if I am compressed like this?”

“How else indeed?” asked Eärwen and smiled behind the rim of her glass. “I will go with her, otherwise we will never get anywhere.”

“I can do that very well by myself!” Anairë said but did not object as Eärwen followed her.

Nerdanel, now left alone with only her tiniest sons for company and found that she did not mind the break. It promised to be a long celebration after all.

* * *

With his cake finished and in dire need of attention and perhaps a few cuddles, Angaráto made to hurry away with all the speed his legs allowed him. It was not enough, not when pitted against his cousin with the stilts for legs. Why was Nelyafinwe so _tall_? How terribly unfair, how unjust.

One moment he had his father clearly in sight and made to cross the distance and the next moment there was a napkin enveloping his entire face. He yelled angrily and was muffled by the napkin.

“There we are, good as new,” Nelyafinwe said, kneeling next to his smaller cousin who flailed around blindly to dislodge the horrible serviette obscuring his vision. “Did he actually eat any of it? Seems that it landed all on his face,” Nelyafinwe said over his shoulder towards Findekáno.

“Well, I mean, he left half of it altogether...” Findekáno offered and prodded the imploded remains of Angaráto's slice. A glob of whipped cream had splattered over the rim of the plate, spilling liberally over the table. “Oh well,” Findekáno conceded, pulled his hand back and licked the cream stuck to his finger away. “You did make quite the large slice.”

Nelyafinwe hummed his agreement, though he had been able to finsih his own just fine. Findekáno too had left nary a crumb. “I am used to the portions Tyelko eats, and even so, he was only satisfied with the one he got because he has been eating everything else in sight beforehand.”

“Irissë helped, let's be honest,” Findekáno said. His own plate was scraped clean, the fork licked spotless. “A miracle that there is anything left over, really.”

Nelyafinwe grinned, releasing Angaráto who made another attempt at escape. He was caught at the wrist and whined while waving into the direction he had seen his father in.

“Shall we get going? He is getting restless,” Nelyafinwe said when Angaráto went limp in his grip to better droop like a dying lily while loudly proclaiming his dissatisfaction as he sat on the ground.

Findekáno shoved their plates together, with the nearly full on at the top of the stack, and went to follow behind the two as Nelyafinwe lifted Angaráto up and up, high into the air until he sat on Nelyafinwe's shoulders.

He grabbed for whatever hair he could, not unlike reins to lead a horse. And what a horse it was! So tall, so red! Angaráto swung his feet to spur his new mount and drove his heels firmly against poor Nelyo's chest.

“Ai!” Nelyo called and grabbed Angaráto by the feet to keep him from kicking again.

Behind him, Findekáno laughed and when Nelyo whirled about, swinging Angaráto still sitting on his with him, and narrowed his eye, Findekáno grinned at him. “Gee up, Nelyo! Don't fall back, you slow jade!” he called and regretted his words right away. Findekáno squealed when he heard Nelyo running after him and made to escape.

* * *

“Ah, Nerdanel, there you are, love,” said Mahtan when he stepped closer to the little crib where his youngest grandchildren chirped about. They were both awake now, more or less. With one wiggling about, desperate for interaction of any kind and the other rubbing his eyes with tiny fists before falling limp again.

Mahtan watched them with the adoring, attentive gaze of a grandfather allowed one more round of reckless spoiling, “Handsome they are.”

“Of course they are, look what vibrant hair they have,” Nerdanel agreed. Both elves, with their equally red hair, were not in the least bit biased of course.

“Where is your husband? I would have imagined him to strut around, showing off, the like.”

“He has and will doubtlessly continue but I think I saw Finwë around and so there might be a break in between the boasting.”

“Very well, fair enough. So, which one is this?” asked Mahtan when he lifted the squirming child and cradled him in one arm. With his free hand he wriggled his fingers in front of the child's face. Pityo went wide-eyed before every single one of his own limbs was wildly flailed about.

“The lively one there is Pityo,” Nerdanel said and stroked the little red head of her flailing son. Pityo made delighted garbling noises, swinging tiny fists about and kicking the air.

“ _That_ lively, eh?” Mahtan said and caught a tiny foot to the chin. “Ai, almost bad as you were at that age.”

“Oh, Atya, _no_. Not those old stories again,” Nerdanel protested and fished for the much quieter Telvo who now also wished for a little attention but was too coy to outright yell for it like his twin.

“I cannot help it, love,” Mahtan said and poked Pityo's nose. The child, utterly, rapturously delighted, shrieked, open mouthed and absolutely floored by these recent developments.

And it was the way of the world, that embarrassing tales would summon those who would gladly listen. In most cases, parents with their own share of stories.

“Why, hello there,” said Finwë, summoned by the unspoken rule of all parents and grandparents to congregate and lay bare all these terrible memories. “I was wondering where everyone was.” He caught sight of the children before him.

A child was snatched up, it did not matter which, but it happened to be Telvo who twirped a surprised little noise at his rapid ascent. How far up he was! There was flailing about, perhaps to gloat about his high perch.

Pityo whirled about, head tilting back to better see where his brother had vanished to and stretched out his own hands.

“How adorable they are, oh, how they remind me of Fëanáro.”

Mahtan nodded fondly at his own memories, “I was just telling Nerdanel of the time when she was of that age. Why, have I told you how she used to--”

This was the moment one had to make a choice. Either stay one's ground and witness tales best forgotten being dug up, examined, repeated and laughed over, or flee to remain oblivious and unembarrassed. Nerdanel, with only a heartbeat to decide, did just that nearly flew of her chair, “There is something I have to check on,” Nerdanel said hastily, emptied her glass and offered Finwë her chair, “You needn't wait up for me, have fun.” And with that she was off, to save herself from any embarrassing memories dredged up from the depths of forgetting where they belonged.

Finwë and Mahtan watched her hasty retreat and smiled before they turned to face each other, “Glad that still works,” Finwë smiled, for now they had the children all to themselves.

* * *

“Wear this one,” said Eärwen and laughed to herself as they wandered through Nerdanel's closet. Once or twice Eärwen had vanished between the rows of dresses, gone for moments on end, excavating ever new gowns and garments. It had turned into something of a game, trying to convince her friend to wear something she found, most of the time covered in an outrageous amount of pearls or other finery.

This one, however, was different, though not in the way Anairë had wished for. “That is a stone carver's apron,” Anairë helpfully pointed out and turned back to rifle through the clothes before her.

“I _know_. I bet no one at the party wears something like this.”

“For good reason, Eärwen, put that back. There must be _something_ sensible in here. _One_ thing not utterly covered in jewellery. Why is _everything_ studded with sequins?”

Eärwen looked at the mason's apron again but held her tongue. Insisting on the joke would not make it funnier, “What is so wrong with that?”

“It is utter gimcrack, to glitter with every step. A lady can dominate the room without burning out one's eyes to draw attention.”

Unconvinced, Eärwen hummed, one hand outstretched to leaf through the fabrics hanging on either side, “Tell that to Arafinwe; I can hear him wandering down the hallway from a quarter mile away, with all the spruce he insists to wear.”

“He is not a lady, I am _most_ certain.”

“The point should still stand. He wears to much finery, is what I am trying to say.”

Anairë bunched the fabric in her hands into a frustrated bundle before she pulled it apart again, “Yes, thank you for that.” She whirled around and fixed her dearest, wilfully obtuse friend with all the desperate urgency she could muster, “Help me find something, Eärwen, _please_! We have dawdled long enough.”

The Valar only knew what her family would get up to without someone keeping them in line. She could already imagine the commotion. Also she yearned for cake and every moment wasted here was another slice gone. Gone forever.

Eärwen rolled her eyes and vanished between the rows of dresses. The coat hangers clicked and clacked together. Then, silence. With Eärwen that was always concerning.

“Eärwen?” No answer. If Anairë would now also need to go search for her friend in these seemingly endless depths of this _forsaken_ dressing room, she would--

There was a wooden clack, shuffling about and the brush of someone squeezing through rows of dresses and Eärwen returned, a silk sash slung around her left shoulder, “There is _another_ closet,” she said and pointed towards the direction she had just come from, “I think that is where all her normal clothing is.”

Anairë began wordlessly rifling through the more sensible choices presented.

* * *

“There you are,” Findarato laughed and laughed again right after when Turukáno gave a startled bleating noise. How he adored that sound.

Turukáno had sequestered himself away in the library, a book on his lap, distracting himself from the noise of so many elves outside.

“Turukáno, you were hiding away, how am I to amuse myself if you do that?”

“I needed a break,” Turukáno replied simply, for here, where he was comfortable, he was calm and collected. He placed a bookmark between the pages, for he was a sensible elf, and smiled, “Will you join me for a spell?”

“Ah, Turukáno, but the crowd, they need me. Who will entertain them if not me?” Findarato asked even as he took a seat and leaned back into the plush upholstering of the reading chair and swung his legs over the other armrest.

Turukáno grinned, “Yes, I can hear them cry out for you from here...”

“How you mock me!” Findarato said, sounding terribly wounded. That did not last long, however, “So, tell me, what are you reading?”

Turukáno hummed and made to tell his very best friend of the book about topiary and other exciting things.

And Findarato, though in many ways the perfect opposite of silent, thoughtful Turukáno, he most certainly did not mind seeing his skittish friend relaxed and happy.

Outside, the party could wait for a little while longer.

* * *

“Seven now, hard to believe,” Mahtan said when they had the children for themselves.

“A good start, to be certain,” Finwë gave him a shrewd smile. “Just wait until they multiply again; Just imaging how many great-grandchildren there will be to tug at your beard and beg for sweets.”

“Valar forbid,” Mahtan said and imagined great-grandchildren in the double digits, all getting underfoot. “Just suppose they will all have Tyelko's enthusiasm for crawly things?”

That made Finwë's laughter stop dead in its tracks. “Do not joke about that,” Finwë shuddered, “I had nightmares for weeks after that.”

“They are harmless. In most cases...”

Finwë squirmed in his seat and adjusted the tiny elf perched in his lap, smiling blissfully as he watched his grandson. The sight of Telvo, who sat quietly and contemplated, big grey eyes taking in the strange sights around him. With his sight still blurry and not yet gifted with the sharp perception of an elf grown, everything certainly looked strange. A little scary but wonderful all the same. Yes, the very sight was enough to banish the memories of insects as big as his hand crawling over him, with ever new horrors emerging, terror unending.

Telvo peeped quietly and stuck most of his fist into his mouth, lacking the fine motor skills needed to select a single finger or his thumb.

“Well, in any case, hypothetical great-grandchildren not withstanding, I seems there is something we have to settle...”

Pityo, similarly dazzled, explored the world by the senses given to him, for he had not the same patience as his twin. Patience was measured in hertbeats and Telvo routinely surprised by holding out for whatever his brother was melting down for for nearly half of one longer.

Pityo stretched out his tiny fingers and tugged at the large, colourful form above him.

Mahtan made only a soft noise of discomfort as his beard was tugged but held still for the there was always the thread of displeased screaming at having one's will denied.

“I wonder why I even tried,” Mahtan said and gave an exaggerated snort until Pityo screeched in delight as puffs of air warmed his fingers. He twisted a little and fished coins from his pocket.

When the child made to stick his own tiny fist into Mahtan's eye or perhaps his nose, though, Mahtan intervened. A finger, roughened by endless work in the forge, lightly tapped against the tip of Pityo's nose to distract him.

The tiny elf went cross-eyed to see better and shrieked when the giant finger in his vision vanished, batting and grabbing for it.

It would repeat from there.

“I always keep betting on the same vain hope, expecting a different outcome.” That particular vain hope of his had been a granddaughter and part of him, the superstitious part that made him knock on wood for good luck, that one had hoped that, if he just wished hard enough, it would result in a single little girl for him to dote over.

Not that he minded the grandchildren already given to him; It was amazing to see that his love was not divided but multiplied with every new arrival.

“Ah, well, perhaps see it as a thought experiment,” Finwë offered and pocketed his winnings. It had not been a significant bet. Really, it was not even about the money. Only about the feeling of smug superiority which was the far sweeter reward. Finwë smiled, once more assured in his victory, “An exercise in futility, if you will.”

“How comforting...” said Mahtan and got his beard tugged on again, this time with two little hands. He smiled and stroked the tiny red head.

* * *

“Why, in Valars' name, do you have so many studded dresses?” asked Anairë when Eärwen and she had rejoined the festivities. With her ribcage no longer compressed and her mood marginally better, Anairë was now much more agreeable.

Nerdanel turned around “Hm? Oh, those were gifts.”

There was a profound silence. Or, well, as silent as a packed dance hall could reasonably be, “...Fëanáro?”

“Who else?” Nerdanel asked and waggled her ears, looking terribly amused.

Anairë nodded, though more to herself than Nerdanel. “Yes, yes, it seems rather obvious when you put it like that.”

“Yes, he loves diamond studded things and all things that are all aglitter, that should be known by now. I don't like hurting his feelings so I smile and act surprised and wear it once to make him happy.”

“The burden of marriage,” Eärwen nodded. “And to think we were worried that you had lost your mind,” she said.

“When did we stop worrying?” Anairë asked, standing slightly off to the side.

“Hush you, how rude, go eat cake, you are still insufferable.” Eärwen said and waved her hand as if to shoo her away.

“I shall and I do not intend to hold back either!” Anairë called over her shoulder, her step light and her waist unpinched.

“Well, she is not entirely wrong,” Nerdanel shrugged and made towards the buffet with Eärwen in tow.

* * *

When the party winded down, it had become rather late. The food had been eaten, the wine cellar emptied and the cake had mysteriously vanished. A few last stragglers stood in little groups and talked, but most had already began to make the journey back home.

The twins had already been whisked away hours ago, not quite yet able to stay awake for more than a few hours at any time.

A few guests had been quartered in the adjacent guest rooms, for there was a point of inebriation one should not cross when one intended to walk on their own volition, much less ride a horse. And because Fëanáro and Nerdanel were gracious hosts who had danced this particular dance five times before, there were guest rooms and something for the resulting hangovers.

And to be fair, the quarters were not only nice, but to boast that one had stayed the night on the crown prince's estate-- Well, if the price for that was to get utterly, devastatingly besotted, then there were many all too willing to do just that.

Fëanáro had instructed the servants to keep an eye on those and went to bring his sons to bed.

He skipped Nelyo who passed him in the hall, one arm slung around Findekáno's shoulders, in the other hand he had a well-worn deck of cards; A sleepover, Nelyo said and laughed brightly. Fëanáro granted it, hoped for Findekáno's sake that the boy did not have many valuables with him and wished them a good time.

Then he went to drag Kanafinwë from the stage. Kanafinwë still played and hummed to himself, because no matter how far along a party was, even if it had long since stopped, it would not be Kanafinwë who ceased on his own volition. The servants tasked with cleaning up certainly never minded.

Then he needed to catch Tyelko and Curufinwë, with Tyelko so full with cake that there was no hope of escaping. What a paradox it all was, Fëanáro contemplated while he tucked Tyelko in. Too much sugar to fall asleep, too pigged out to stay awake.

Curufinwë was not quite so easily found and Fëanáro made a detour to gather Carnistir from the library before he searched anew for his wayward son.

* * *

In their little crib lay Ambarussa. Both twins almost asleep, though not just yet. They burbled and chirped sleepily, yet could not tear their eyes away from the blurry figure standing above them. Over them loomed Curufinwë. He had kissed their little brows as a good older brother would and was now busy repeating his name over and over again, so quiet as to be nearly inaudible.

“What are you doing?” asked Fëanáro when he had crept up just behind Curufinwë, looming like some manner of towering beast.

Curufinwë's shriek needed a moment to fade and Ambarussa was now fully awake and had burst out laughing at their brother's antics.

Fëanáro, after his ears had stopped ringing, hummed and stood by until their giggly fit had passed. When it did, the twins fell silent and asleep, now fully tired out from such excitement.

“We do not try to indoctrinate our siblings,” Fëanáro said and shooed Curufinwë out of the room and along the corridor.

“I was not!” called Curufinwë and crossed his arms, sounding terribly indignant and only a little guilty.

Fëanáro was not fooled, however, for he had tried the very same thing before and nudged his huffy son until Curufinwë moved once more, “It is their choice which word will be their first.--” Which Fëanáro had tested and proven. Somewhere buried in his library the thesis he had written on that could still be found with dedicated effort.

“You cannot try to change the outcome,” Fëanáro said but did not pursue the argument further, for he was by now also in desperate need for a break.

Curufinwë muttered but still insisted on getting tucked in properly, with the blanket smoothed out and his pillow fluffed.

Fëanáro obliged him, it was only proper after his now not tiniest any longer son had been so very diligent with the greeting of their guests. Such good behaviour reflected positively on Fëanáro in turn, that was worth a reward.

But even that was eventually done and there was nothing else to do but turn in for some more than well-deserved rest.

Fëanáro halted his steps, right there in the hallway, when he remembered something. He was motionless, save his eyes, for he looked into the direction of his study where the present Finwë had brought him still waited.

He wondered what was in there. Wondered very much indeed.

Perhaps his bed could wait just a little longer.


End file.
